Crawfish Festival Pictures April 27, 2008

Here are the promised picture from our evening at the Crawfish Festival 2008. Here is Jael on Israel’s shoulders…twice

We walked around for a bit before heading to the Ferris Wheel.

We took some pictures from the top of the Ferris wheel.

If you look carefully, you can see Alex. She is standing above on the right of the gray platform. She is wearing a black shirt and is looking up at us.

We went on the Tilt-A-Whirl next. Alex took this picture which shows Jael’s concerned face. Jael didn’t exactly enjoy that ride.

After that, we wanted Jael to have some fun so to the carousel we went.

Then to the cars and motorcycles.

This was an attraction we didn’t go into. It was a ride. I think it was supposed to be kind of a scare house. An Indiana Jones likeness was on the other side.

Then Israel, Alex, and Jael left me to go on all the crazy rides. Here’s a picture of the Fireball, which doesn’t really do it justice.

But you can imagine that big arm swinging like a pendulum, while the hand like portion on the bottom spins around and around. What a rush!!

And here’s a picture of the fair as the lights came on.

All in all, we had a great time. I’m glad we went and if we were here next year, we’d probably go again.

Upcoming: Renn Fair in Ocean Springs and Becky in a corset. Fun fun.

A Book Review – “Strip City” April 25, 2008

I just finished Lily Burana’s book, “Strip City,” which chronicles her cross country trip. Her cross country stripping trip. As she neared saying “I Do” with her very understanding fiance, she realized she’d not made peace with her stripping past.

She traveled to Dallas, L.A., Alaska, New Jersey, Las Vegas, and many other locales as she rediscovers the joys and pains of stripping. As she travels and dances in new places, some similar to the clubs she’d danced in previously and some vastly different, she revisits her start in the stripping industry. From the scuzzy Peepland to the posh Mitchell Brothers, her insights are revelatory.

As someone who’s never so much as seen the inside of a strip club or even an adult bookstore, the entire industry was a complete mystery to me. At times, while reading, the idea of stripping seemed glamorous and profitable and then a couple of pages later it would seem a horrible thing that held no appeal whatsoever.

Lily struggles with this paradox herself. She briefly entertains the idea of using her name as a respected writer to present the stripping industry as nothing more sinister than making a lot of money for providing an entertainment. She thinks of glossing over the darker side; the rule breaking; the exploitation of dancers; the obsession with body perfection. She woul dlike to claim she never felt objectified while stripping but honesty wins out. She shows it all, both on stage and on paper. This stark look at an industry most of us will never see the inside of is fun and informative. Many of my subconscious judgments have faded.

The Crawfish Festival April 25, 2008

We went to the Crawfish Festival last night (at the Coliseum) and had a riot. We didn’t have any crawfish, which made me feel like we cheated somehow but we’d already had supper, were feeling a little woozy from the lights, noises, crowds and midway rides so we passed on the crawfish (which the friend we were with can’t eat, Israel’s not sure he likes, Jael’s indifferent to, and I wasn’t sure I could keep down, having been on all the crazy rides) and got a funnel cake instead.

Jael had a blast. Israel, Jael, and I went on the Ferris Wheel, which we all loved and  then the Tilt-a-Whirl, which scared the crap out of Jael. She was white knuckle gripping the bar with her lips pulled back in a very amusing face. After that she went on the car ride (a little mini carousel with cars instead of horses), the motorcycle ride (same thing with motorcycles), the carousel, and the “Bee” ride, like the airplane ride I’ve seen elsewhere, but with bumble bees, which Jael noticed, had no stingers. She had so much fun. It was great.

Then I went on the Fireball. There’s a picture. The pendulum part turns while it swings to an angle of slightly more than 180 degrees. It was one of the most fun rides I’ve ever been on. The lady next to me was an older Latina and she and I just laughed through the whole thing. The two young boys on my right seemed to do more screaming than laughing. I’m not sure if they were really scared or not. It wasn’t scary to me at all. It was just a rush. Then I went on the Mega Loop. I can’t find a good picture but here’s a sketch of it. It’s pretty simple.

I would have like to go one other but by that time my body was rebelling against me. Watching spinning things or even something as simple as Jael on the swing will make me a bit naseated and with all the flashing lights and spinning rides, I was not feeling up to another assault, though I wanted to desperately. But good sense won out so we bought our funnel cake and headed home, me carring a very tired Jael.

Addmission was free on Thursday, we bought one unlimited ride bracelet (for me), a family pack of tickets (22 tickets for $20 instead of $1 a piece) and one funnel cake and spent $45 dollars. Everyone got to ride enough rides and we all got about as much funnel cake as one person needs. When we got home, Israel, thinking we’d bought the larger family pack, thought we’d spent closer to $75 dollars and he wasn’t sure he’d had $75 worth of fun. Once I assured him that we’d only spent $45, he was very pleased with our expenses to fun ratio. All in all, a great night of fun for a very reasonable price.

As soon as I download the pictures from my camera and get the photos that Alex took, I’ll post pictures.

April Update April 24, 2008

We went swimming last night, which was the third or fourth time we’ve been this spring. Last night was finally warm enough to be enjoyable. I don’t know if it was because the water felt so much warmer because the sun was down and the air was a bit cooler, because I jumped in the deep end first thing thus avoiding the tortureous inch by inch method I’ve used previously, or because the water was actually warmer. I guess I don’t really care. It was great fun. I’m hoping we can squeeze another swim in today. I wish we didn’t have to shower afterwards. I’d love to come home from storytime, jump in the pool, dry off, have some lunch and lay Jael down for a nap. If we don’t shower, we have time for that but with a shower thrown in, it ends up being 1:30 or 2 before she’s laid down for nap and that’s just too gone late.

What else has been going on? We are going to the Crawfish Festival tonight. Sounds lame, doesn’t it? But they’ve got a carnival/fair set up so that’s really why we are going. Jael has been so excited. It’s at the Coliseum (the Mississippi Gulf Coast Coliseum and Convention Center) which is half a block from our house. Every time we pass by, which happens at least twice a day, she points and says excitedly, “There’s the fair! We are going to go to the fair on Thursday!” She’s invited every person she’s talked to in the last week to go with us. Our friend Alex is going to come with us which will be fun. She’s great.

Let’s see. Anything else of note? I broke the 230 mark. As of Monday morning (my official weigh-in day) I am 229 pounds. YAY!! So, if I am under 230 next Monday, I am scheduling a hair appointment a at a posh salon near Mobile. No, I don’t trust anyone on the Gulf Coast to touch my hair. The one place I’ve had recommended to me from a curly girl was not very friendly when I talk to them. They weren’t exactly rude but they didn’t seem super excited to be chosen by me either. So screw supporting local business. I’m going to Alabama.

I am fat. Fat and sexy! April 20, 2008

I’m fat. Fat and sexy. I used to just be fat, and then lately, I’ve realized that I can love my body just the way it is. I’m not a bad person because I’m fat. I’m just fat. I’m not lazy or ugly or undeserving of affection. The word “fat” carries so much negativity with it that a friend of mine will not say it in front of her sons. She doesn’t even want him to know what the word means. My daughter, on the other hand, will pat my butt and say, “I like your fat butt, Mommy.” To us, “fat” references the quantity of fat cells one has. It’s not a value judgment.

For so long, I thought I sucked. I had been told I was a dirty rotten sinner for so long, I came to believe it in a way I don’t think the church ever intended. I came to believe that without Jesus I was worthless. I believe that deep in my heart, I knew this was false and so I had to find some reason that I sucked so. I chose my weight. It must be my weight that made me suck. It became my excuse for everything. Why didn’t I have more friends? Because I was too fat to be outgoing. Why didn’t I have a better job? Because I was too fat – revealing to potential employers my innate laziness and lack of enthusiasm. Why didn’t I get the full ride scholarship to Bible college? Because they saw that I was fat and “knew” I lacked self discipline and self-control (which is a fruit of the Spirit, revealing also the immaturity of my faith).

At some point in the last three months, I’ve realized that I am a valuable person, regardless of my weight. I don’t have more friends because I don’t go want more friends. I have a few close friends and that’s the way I like it. I don’t need a bazillion friends. I need a half dozen close friends that I can call up and hang out with when I need companionship. I didn’t get the scholarship because I didn’t apply myself in school. I didn’t do anything above the bare minimum. I didn’t get a better job because I was doing nothing to better myself. I didn’t look good in pictures because I bought crappy clothes because, after all, I didn’t deserve anything better.

Since coming to believe that I am valuable, I’ve changed some things in my life. I’ve spent some money on clothes. I went jeans shopping. The pair that fit best happened to be on sale for twelve bucks but I’d have paid the full price of forty for them. I went to a consignment shop and bought some cute shirts, spending about thirty dollars on five shirts. (Notice I didn’t go to the Goodwill…because it sucks here.) I bought a sixty dollar swim suit. I spent a hundred bucks on underwear (bras and panties). I’m scheduling a “spa” day for me. The hair cut will cost about sixty dollars and the wax another sixty. But that’s okay…I am a woman and I should not hid in crappy clothes that wear out in six months. I don’t have to have a bad hair cut (or in my case, no hair cut whatsoever). I don’t have to have a fifteen dollar Wal-Mart swimsuit that I’m embarrassed to be seen in. I don’t have to wear a shirt that I’ve had for over seven years and is full of holes. I don’t have to wear jeans that fit badly. We have the money for me to dress like I respect myself and so I’m beginning to.

I no longer stress about working out. I still try to get to the gym a couple of times a week. I need to be active for my health. I’ve no problem with that but I don’t beat myself up about it. I feel no pressure to have “perfect” attendance at Curves. I don’t pay a lot of attention to what I eat. We try to buy healthy foods so there isn’t a lot of garbage to snack on but when there is, I simply try to partake moderately. By not focusing on my weight all the time, I’m not focused on food all the time and it doesn’t control me the way it once did. It’s like Israel and porn. The more he stresses about not looking at it, the more he’s thinking about it and the more he wants to look at it. If he just relaxes and doesn’t beat himself up when he does, than it’s not that big of a deal. It’s the same way with food. If I think about eating healthy all the time, than I’m thinking about food all the time and what I can’t have and then I just want to eat all the time. (Right now, I am seriously having some cravings, even though my stomach is full of lunch and iced tea and I am absolutely not hungry.)

I don’t worry about not looking like the women on TV and in magazines. A number of months ago, we watched Dove’s Evolution video, Pro-Age, and Onslaught videos, and my personal favorite, True colors.

After watching these, I realized that I had let the “industry” tell me what was beautiful. I’d been frustrated because I knew that my body would never look like “theirs” no matter how much fat I removed from it. I knew this but felt deep inside that maybe if I just did more sit-ups or regular cardio maybe I’d bring about a miracle. It was magic thinking and I’m done with it. I realized that I am who I am. I began to love my body. It’s amazing. When’s the last time you walked into a store and instead of criticizing the way the entry doors make your hips look fat, you focused on the feeling of your leg muscles as they move your body forward? Do you know that we can’t make robots walk? They’ve been working on it and working on it and are beginning to make head way but nothing beats the human body for walking. Feel each muscle as it contracts and relaxes. Feel your biceps. Lay flat on your back and move your arms above you, feeling the beauty as they move in the way you tell them to. It’s amazing.

Oh, and the average American woman is 5′4″ tall and 154 pounds. The average model is 5′11″ and 117 pounds. Most of us will never, ever, ever look like a model. They are freaks of nature. You wouldn’t judge a Chevy Aveo for not being a Lexus. Don’t judge your body for not being freakishly tall and thin. You are you. They aren’t comparing themselves to you. Don’t compare yourselves to them.

Okay, so as this happens, Israel’s friends start to notice and it’s very flattering. When he worked at Pizza Hut, I knew the guys wanted me for my cookies (as in chocolate chip cookies, not a euphemism for something else). This is something new. I find out that I am, in the current shape I am in right now, desirable to other men. This sounds so funny to say because I should have known it but when your world view is skewed it affects everything. Subconsciously, I believed that Israel found me beautiful out of duty. He loved my body because we were married. To find out that he desires me because I am desirable is amazing. It was revolutionized my life. I feel so alive and so powerful. I have power. I chose to use it for good but I have power. I am not helpless. It’s part of what has given our sex life such power of late. I could be sleeping with any number of other guys but I’m not. I’m giving something of great value to my husband every time I choose him. And vice versa. He’s giving me something great as well. We are mutually choosing to be with each other, not out of desperation or duty, but from free will.

This has also affected how I spend my time. Since realizing that because I was fat did not automatically make me lazy and undisciplined, I find I don’t have enough time in the day to do all the things I’d like. Unlike before, where I spent too much time watching TV and movies and playing stupid games on the computer, I now don’t have enough time because I’m reading books that teach me things and reveal things about the world at large. I’m writing more (obviously). I’m researching things that are important and/or fun. I’m learning German. I’m trying to learn to belly dance-which is a ton of fun. If I can find a class here and then one in Germany, I’m going to be so psyched! My house is cleaner because I’ve realized that being fat does not mean I’m dirty and slovenly. It’s not necessarily less cluttered because I’ve also realized that there are more important things in life than having a clean house. My quality of life is improved by a clean house. It is more improved by reading lots of books and listening to lots of different music. But I can clean the house in about thirty minutes now, instead of the two or three hours it used to take me. I am comfortable throwing things into the closet to deal with another day (probably the day we move) because it doesn’t mean I’m a fat, disgusting, slob. It just means I’ve more important things to do then stress about where that pile of knick-knacks should go.

I think what I’m trying to communicate is this: it doesn’t matter what your weight is. It matters what your state of mind is. Example: if, a year ago, someone had taken me out and bought me really expensive, well fitting clothes and given me a “make-over,” I would not have been transformed. I would not have been happy with the clothes. I would have still looked “fat” in my eyes and it would simply have reaffirmed what I dreaded to be true: even with expensive, great clothes, I was still ugly. Until I felt beautiful within my own skin, I would never feel beautiful on the outside.

I just finished “The Fat Girl’s Guide to Life” by Wendy Shanker. A lot of my mental changes have come about because of this fabulous book. If you receive this book from me for Christmas, do not be offended. Everyone, fat, thin, zitty, short, tall, curly haired, big-nosed, apple bottomed, bow legged, has something to learn from her insights. If you have something you feel insecure about, you can learn from this book. If you are completely satisfied with yourself, good for you. You still need this book. It will give you insight into the heads and hearts of those of us who are working on self contentment.

Marriage and Sex April 19, 2008

I realized something the other day. If this is too much information for some of you, I am sorry if you are offended but not sorry for what I am about to say.

My husband and I have a wonderful sex life. We have tons of fun in bed and are completely satisfied with each other. Our sex life is holy and pure.

I grew up believing a sex life could only be pure and holy if it was with the confines of marriage. That it was the marriage that made sex holy and beautiful. It was the fence around the marriage bed, keeping the participants in and everyone else out that made it good and clean.

That’s not what makes it beautiful. The performance of duty is not what makes it pure. The piece of paper from the county courthouse is not what makes it holy. It is the daily choice that I and my husband make to share our bed with each other and no one else. If we were not married, we would still make that choice. If the government decided that tomorrow was the last day of marriage and that they would no longer recognize any kind of marital union, Israel and I would still come home to each other and find solace and sexual pleasure in each other’s arms and never the arms of anyone else. It is not the fence that keeps others out of our bed and us out of others but our choice.

And that is what love is. Love is not a piece of paper saying he has to provide for me and any offspring we might have. It isn’t a ring on my finger or his. It isn’t a pretty white dress and a rented tuxedo. It isn’t the approval of our family and friends. It’s our choice. It’s daily sliding into bed next to each other when there are others willing to welcome us into their bedroom.

This is revelatory to me. I thought what made my sex life special was that Israel and I are married. No, no, no. Marriage has nothing to do with it. Marriage, as we in America and the Christian church know it, is a piece of paper, a legal contract. Our sex life is special because we choose to share it with each other. Daily. There are men and women who’ve made offers, outright and not, and it is the saying no to them and yes to each other that makes our sex holy.

It’s the choice. The free will choice to say “No” to every other person in the world, and “Yes” to each other. It’s free will and it’s beautiful.

Strawberries, Hair Cuts, and Pizza April 14, 2008

I made a fruit salad the other day. While cutting strawberries, I found a weird one…Yup. It’s weird.

We took Jael to get her hair cut today. First, I must rant about the stupidity of this place. I don’t just want to take her to Wal-Mart to get her hair cut. We’ve never cut her hair before and I’m a little nervous. We’d wanted to wait until she could make the decision to cut her hair herself but she’s started chewing on it and so the decision got made for her. I open up the phone book, thinking I’ll find a salon in the yellow pages who says something about specializing in children’s hair cuts or maybe that just has an ad I like.

Yeah…I thought wrong. Under ‘barbers’ there were 60 shops listed and three with ads. Under ‘haircutters & stylists’ there were 28 listings and no ads. Under ’spa’ there were some more listings but not once was there a professional ad or even an ad that seemed like a shop might like business. ARGH! So, faced with picking some shop at random, we decided to go ahead and go to Wal-Mart. At least if they screwed it up, there was some guarantee that they wouldn’t just laugh at us and kick us out of their store.

So, thinking there was a SmartStyle in the Wal-Mart northeast of us, I look them up in the white pages, wanting to call to see what kind of a wait we might have. None of the Wal-Mart’s listed a salon. We were sure there was one there so Israel got online and checked out Wal-Mart’s website to see if he could find one with a salon. None in the area. So I look up SmartStyle in the phone book and there it is: “SmartStyle-inside Wal-Mart…” and gives the address to the Wal-Mart Israel is looking at online that lists everything and it’s dog but not the salon. ARGH!!! (again)

We went and got her hair cut and it looks good. It’s not a magical hair cut that will never fall into her face while remaining feminine but it’s better than it was and is cute. Here are two before pics…

and two after pics…

Oh, and as I looked up the phone book stuff just now, I found all the missing adverts. They are listed under ‘beauty salons.’ Now, I looked under ’salon,’ ‘cosmotolgy,’ ‘haircutting,’ ‘barbers,’ etc, and not once was there a reference such as “look under beauty salon.” Nothing. ARGH!!!!!!!!

But we got her hair cut and that was cool. Then we went to a park and met a nice lady named Maria and her two and a half year old daughter. There was a large group of kids, from a school or day care or something there. Jael and some other girls had a bit of an altercation over proper bridge etiquette. Jael was bouncing on the bridge when a girl at least two years older tried to cross, slipped on her incredibly slippery shoes and then after slipping and sliding across the bridge and finally gaining the other side, yells at Jael, “You are the one that made me fall!” and then went away. Another little girl came and told Jael that she wasn’t supposed to jump on the bridge to which Jael responded, “Yes, I am.” The girl told Jael, quite forcefully, that she needed to get out of her way. Jael countered by telling the girl, again about two years older, equally forcefully that she needed to go around. Which the girl did. I was so proud of Jael for standing up for herself. I don’t want he to be a playground tyrant but I also don’t ever want to see her bow to someone else just because they are loud, obnoxious and afraid. Then Jael found two like-minded girls to play with and they had a riot.

After the park we went to the Mellow Mushroom for pizza. It was…amazing. There really isn’t any other words for it. We ordered a medium House Special, which, and I quote, “Originated when we first began, this Mellow Mushroom classic features Pepperoni, Sausage, Ground Beef, Onions, Green Peppers, Shrooms, Black Olives, Tomatoes, Bacon, Ham, and Extra Cheese.” It was phenomenal. I could have done with out the bacon but that’s simply because there were so many other toppings that the bacon was almost over kill. We ordered a medium and brought two slices home but I wish we’d ordered a large so we could have had a few more pieces to bring home. Okay, what I really wanted was to be able to eat another piece but still have enough pieces left to bring home to make me feel like I ate responsibly. *sigh*

The restaurant was almost perfect. There was fun music but not too loud. The decor was fun but not over powering. The smells, were of course, amazing. They served Coca-cola products and a huge selection of beers, domestic and imported. They had a number of beers that Israel has not tried. Since we were there for lunch, he didn’t try any today but maybe next time. The only complaint I have is the TV. There was a TV on each end of the restaurant and even though it was golf, I found myself being continually distracted. I hate TV in restaurants but oh, well. It was still worth it and we will definitely be visiting the Mellow Mushroom again.

After eating, we looked at the railroad behind the restaurant where one of the sidings appeared to be quite deserted. It was very light rail, very rusty – so rusty in fact that we had a very hard time finding a production date on it. After much searching and brushing away some dust, we found it. Laid in 1918. The oldest we’ve ever found. A train went by while we were looking and the engineer waved back at Jael. (In case you don’t know, Jael loves trains. Every time she hears a train, while in the apartment, she rushes to the door and asks to go down and watch it. We usually let her. She stands down on the curb, watches the train go by and then runs back upstairs to tell us about it. She’s wonderful.)

We headed home after that, Jael took a great nap, and Israel and I relaxed for about an hour and a half.

All in all, a great day.

Oh, and I’m reading “Jane Eyre” again. What a great book. I love it. It’s one of the few books I can read over and over. “Ender’s Game,” “The Captain of Castile,” and “The True Confessions of Charlotte Doyle” are some of the others. That may actually be a complete list of the books I can read over and over again.

Coming soon: “The Fat Girl’s Guide to Life”: a book review.

Jael and Naps April 11, 2008

Jael has not been napping lately. I don’t know why. I don’t even care whys sometimes. All I know is that she needs a nap every day. At one o’clock when it’s time to begin “quiet time,” it seems like she would be fine without a nap. She’s awake and alert. She’s happy (usually) and would really, really like to stay up. So for a while, especially if we were out and about and didn’t want to come home, we would let her stay up. She’s four, we thought. Maybe she’s outgrown her afternoon nap.

NOPE!

By five or six o’clock, she is a complete and total basketcase. She is whiny and fussy. She cries over everything…and not just drama queen crap but literally upset and sad about silly little things. So, we’ve reinstituted the “nap” with excellent results. After a fashion. First there were the pleas and the excuses and the reasons. Then the tears and the collapses (very much the drama queen stuff there). There were repeat spankings.

And then suddenly, there was silence. I peeked in on her and this is what I saw…

But, no, no, no. She’s not tired. Silly little girl.

Here’s another one…

So what have we learned from this little experience? We, her parents, do in fact still know what’s best for her…at least regarding naps. My days have been going much better with my two hour quietness restored. Live and learn and boy, oh boy, did we ever!

Friends and Emigration Don’t Mix April 10, 2008

I’ve had serious writer’s block. Not really sure why but I’ve been feeling unmotivated in all areas of life so maybe it’s just a symptom of whatever else is going on (definitely the most likely scenario). So, in light of my block, I’m just going to run through the things that have happened in the last few days.

We had some friends over Sunday night. It was a ton of fun. One of the guys brought a bottle of white wine and a bottle of red. Both were hands down the best wines I’ve ever had.

Israel and I have been trying to find a wine we liked for a couple of years now but have not had any luck. I think we’ve finally gotten somewhere. Besides the wine, we had a riot. We told poop stories and laughed until we cried. Jael was wonderful. She allowed the adults to talk and would occasionally have interesting or funny things to add. She’s pretty much amazing.

We (all of us as Israel is working weekends right now) went over to a friend’s house for lunch on Tuesday and again, just had a riot. She has one daughter about a year younger than Jael but because neither Jael nor this little girl have not been peer stratified, they couldn’t care less about the age difference. They played beautifully together. Not tears, no yelling–well, not in anger at least. (For those of you that have met my daughter in person, you know that an afternoon with no yelling is an afternoon spent asleep.) I think we are going to get to be better friends with this gal and her husband. I’ve not met her husband but I think we are going to like him. So, as is usual, I think we are going to make some good friends six months before we leave a place. Don’t it figure?

Or, my friends leave me.

Tuesday night, I went out with some friends. Ana* is moving Sunday. She’s been a good friend, the one who introduced me to the mom’s group I’m a part of. Her son is my daughter’s best friend. They love each other. Jael doesn’t run up to hug other kids but she does this young boy. We were at the mall one day and Jael and Ana’s son are walking through the mall, holding hands, when we pass a jewelry store and they stop to look into the jewelry cases. It was a Kodak moment so of course no one had a camera ready. So, on top of me losing a good friend (okay, she’s only moving 12 hours away but that’s a long drive with a four year old), my daughter is losing her favorite friend.

Another mom from the mom’s group (actually the other administrator-we are loosing both of the ladies who started it so a time of readjustment is definitely on the horizon), is also moving but not until the end of the month. I’d just started to get to know her when we found out she was moving. I’m glad for her as the move is the result of a great job promotion for her husband but I’m going to miss her a lot.

Then we had a friend over last night and dropped the “we’re moving to Germany” bomb on her by accident. I was positive we’d told her we were leaving but I guess we didn’t. She was asking if we were going to go to the Renn Faire with her. I asked when it was, she said November and I said, nope, we’ll be in Germany by then. This was met by a blank stare. A sad blank stare. This sinking feeling in the pit of my stomach told me we had just pulled the rug out from under this friend. She’d just gone through a surprise break-up and had to move back in her disapproving parents. She incredibly smart and talented (her art is amazing). Basically, she doesn’t fit her in the Deep South. She belongs in a more enlightened place. Israel and I have been a breath of fresh air for her. She has many intelligent friends online but few she can get together with face to face. If the military hadn’t brought us here, we certainly wouldn’t have been the book store where we met. Every intelligent and/or truly enjoyable person I’ve met down here has not so much come here as been sent here or has had to come due to circumstances out of their control. Business, military, military contracting. That’s it. People who are from here (sans this friend) we don’t like. People who really like it here, we don’t like. People who don’t like it here but stay for family, we don’t like. People who are chomping at the bit to escape, we like.

We might have to get a larger house than we thought when we move to Germany. We already have one friend who is planning on coming for a six month stay (for a start; if we can, we’ll keep her in Germany much longer). We invited this other friend last night as well. She scoffed (it is about a thousand dollar ticket and that’s right now. Who knows what it’ll be in a year or so) at the idea but we planted it. After this next election, she might be a lot more motivated to emigrate. So anyway…that’s been the last few days.

*name changed for privacy–that and I’ve not asked permission to throw other people’s names and personal information around online. Seems like if they are actually my friends (as opposed to my apartment managers) I wouldn’t disrespect them that way.

Grandma and Grandpa April 3, 2008

I never really knew my grandpa Roger*. He left my grandma Ellen* when my mom was about eight. He lived with another woman Fran*, raising their family. When my mom was about 14, Roger and Ellen were actually divorced. At that time everyone, except Roger kids with Fran, who didn’t know their parents weren’t married, thought he would now marry Fran. Instead he left her for another woman. I don’t remember ever meeting him until he was in the hospital dying of liver failure from alcohol abuse.

Not a great father figure. But, the I learned about his mom, Beatrice*. Whom I’d met once when my sister was graduating high school, when I was about 15. She died a couple of weeks ago, surprising me, since I had forgotten she was alive. I know that sounds horrible, but she had isolated herself from her family completely. She had kicked her daughter, Jane*, out of the house some thirty years ago and hadn’t spoken to her since. Beatrice didn’t even tell her when her brother died. My grandfather, Roger, started sleeping on park benches when he was around 10. So I’m thinking he didn’t have the greatest example of loving parents either.

I was talking to Israel this morning about some of the conversations he has or overhears at work. One of the conversations that he listened to yesterday but refrained from joining was about how tough these guys were because their parents were such bad-asses. One guy bragged that his mom didn’t have to spank them or slap them if they back talked. She would just throw whatever was nearby at their head. Book, full cup of coffee, shoe, whatever. Pitch it at their head.

Another time, when speaking about raising their own children, someone said, “Yeah, you got to beat her ass,” in reference to a daughter. Israel said, “No, we don’t beat our daughter. We spank her. We don’t spank her when we’re angry.” To which this person replied, “You gotta spank her when you’re mad. If you wait until you cool off, you won’t hit her hard enough. You gotta lay into her ass.”

Seriously.

That’s really what was said. “You gotta spank (or beat) when you are angry or you won’t hit hard enough.”

I don’t think people should be allowed to hit their children. I think my husband and I are better than most people (I really do. I’m sorry. We are thinking and they are not. We are learning new things and they are watching Survivor. We are trying to make our world a better place and they are buying new full size SUV’s and complaining about gas prices. Which of us would you rather have around?) and I think we spank correctly. As a punishment and never as a behavior modifier. We don’t spank to make her stop a behavior. We spank her as a consequence to behavior and hope that she will make the right decision to forgo the negative consequence and choose the right behavior. However, I am willing to give that up and find other forms of negative consequences in order to protect every other child out their from their abusive parents.

Because that’s what throwing things at your child’s head is. It’s abuse. I’m not even sorry for saying that. If your parents ever threw something at you in anger, you’ve been abused. If you’ve ever thrown something at your child in anger, you’ve abused. Simple. (I’m not talking a rolled up sock thrown in jest. I’m talking about hard, heavy things that should not be thrown at children. Use some common sense. If it would hurt you if it were thrown at your, it will hurt your child. Duh.)

So, I don’t think Straus’s study as reported in USA Today, is nearly as out of whack as I thought it was when I blogged about it a while back. I now think that since most people who spank are also the kind of people who throw things at their kids, most people who are spanked are going to have weird problems as adults. And the phrase “lay into her ass” has certain sexual overtones that are altogether creepy. So, while I still think USA Today did a shoddy job of reporting and that Straus should not have lumped masochism with risky sexual behavior nor should he have used so small of studies of the high schoolers, I’m not as out right opposed to his findings as I was originally. As I meet more and more people and get to know them and have these conversations with them, I become less and less comfortable with other people being allowed to corporally discipline their children.

Yes, I want special rights for me and my friends. But I am willing to give those up for the well being of ever potentially abused child out there. I’m creative. I can find other ways to discipline and train up my child and any future children we might have. But hundreds of thousands of kids out there won’t get a choice about whether or not they are routinely abused by those who are supposed to be taking care of them and protecting them.

*names have been changed. I’m fine with my name being plastered all over the internet but I don’t know about everyone else.